


Terezi Pyrope and the Chamber of Serkets (and other stories)

by arjache



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Homestuck, Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arjache/pseuds/arjache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Magic is fake as shit,” says Vriska, and then leaps fifty feet straight up onto the back of the giant, spider-shaped Shadow Mount she has just summoned out of thin air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Terezi Pyrope and the Chamber of Serkets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartsinhay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinhay/gifts).



> Thank you, as always, to my beta readers.

“Magic is fake as shit,” says Vriska, and then leaps fifty feet straight up onto the back of the giant, spider-shaped Shadow Mount she has just summoned out of thin air.

Sighing in exasperation, you quickly summon your own mount - a dragon, of course - and jump onto it, somersaulting a few times over your canestaff for show. The Shadow Mount smells of billowing smoke and inky despair. You tilt your canestaff forward, guiding your Mount to the centre of the practise range, where Vriska waits impatiently.

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you have no idea how you are going to score good marks at Wizard School this term with a lab partner like Vriska Serket.

* * *

In study hall, the students around you exchange rumours about your new lab partner while you keep your head down and try to study.

“I heard she had a pet spider until one of the professors made her release it and instead she snuck it into the woods and now it’s enormous and eats first years.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ heard she tried to steal the Octavo and instead the eighth spell got lodged in her brain and that’s why she’s no good at studying magic, ’cause it’s taking up all the space.”

“Cor blimey, that’s the spell that rewrites fate itself! What if she were to cast it?”

“OoooOoooOooo!”

“Ack, quit joking around!”

“Is it true?” one of the students asks you in a half-whisper, and you sigh exasperatedly and look up.

“Is what true?” you ask.

“Is it true that she wears that eyepatch because she lost an eye to a palantír?”

“Yes, it’s true. I tricked her into looking into a palantír and then it exploded in her face,” you say, in a completely deadpan tone. “And then she blinded me in retaliation and now somehow, beyond all reason, we have been assigned to be each other’s lab partner.”

“You didn’t have to be sarcastic. I was just asking,” he says, disappointedly. You turn back to your tome.

“Tricky things, you know,” one of the other students says. “Palantírs, that is. They say that you don’t know who else may be watching,”

“I think his name was…Vetinari,” you reply absent-mindedly.

* * *

In Metaphysical History class Vriska falls asleep at her desk, which is next to yours, and stays so for at least ten minutes, until letting out a small snore, at which point the professor marches up to her and raps on her desk loudly with her wand.

“Ms. Serket!” she yells.

Vriska bolts upright. “Wha?”

“Which quote is attributed to Zazzerpan the Learned in the aftermath of the massacre of Syrs Gnelph?”

“…we’re going to need more wands?” Vriska replies. The class titters nervously.

“Incorrect!”

You start silently mouthing the correct answer to Vriska but then the professor abruptly swivels around and addresses you instead.

“Ms. Pyrope! Who said, ‘Logic is the cement of our civilization with which we ascend from chaos using reason as our guide?’”

“Gastrell the Munificent,” you answer confidently.

“Correct! What was Ockite the Bonafide’s first law of metaphysics?”

“Nothing unreal exists.”

“Correct! And the second?”

“No matter where you go, there you are.”

“Correct!” Her robes swish as she turns and addresses the class. “Well, I see one of you, at least, has been reading up. Ms. Pyrope, how do you feel?”

That one you have to stop and think about.

“Ma’am?” you finally ask.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a cholerbear steak at the annual school picnic: Well-grilled,” Vriska interjects, and the entire classroom erupts in laughter.

“I want to see both of you after class,” the professor says quietly, before walking back to the front of the classroom and affixing the class with a glare that would shame a basilisk.

* * *

“Do you know why the two of you were assigned to each other as lab partners?” the professor asks. It’s just the three of you in the classroom, the rest of the class having shuffled out and started banging their locker doors as they went about their business.

Neither of you responds.

The professor sighs. “Ms. Pyrope, what was the one class for which you did not receive high marks in the previous term?”

“Applied Magic.”

“And Ms. Serket, what was the one class for which you _did_ receive high marks in the previous term?”

“…Applied Magic,” Vriska says, with a certain amount of restraint in her voice.

“Precisely. You were assigned to each other because your strengths and weaknesses overlap. Ms. Pyrope, you need to appreciate that there is more to a magical education than studying theory. And Ms. Serket, you need to appreciate that without a solid foundation on which to build, there is only so far you can go on your own.” The bell for the next class rings. “Now, I don’t want to have to discuss this with you two again. Understood? Alright, run along now.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Why did you call magic fake, anyway?” you ask Vriska. The two of you are in a field near the school, ostensibly brainstorming ideas for an upcoming project. In reality you are drawing with chalk on a boulder, while Vriska is trudging around kicking stones.

“What’s wrong with a statement like that?”

“Vriska, you are currently attending wizard school. With me. A fellow wizard, and your lab partner.”

“…”

“The lab is also magic.”

She snorts and doesn’t reply.

“What?” you ask.

“Well it’s easy for you, isn’t it? You’re doing that whole…pre-law…track…thing. You’re gonna be a wizard barrister! But I’m not. I don’t want any of what this school has to offer. There’s nothing for me here.”

“Then what _do_ you want to do with your life? What do you want to be when you get out of here? Surely there must be something you want.”

“I dunno,” says Vriska. “Maybe a pirate? I think I could make that work.”

"What, a wizard pirate?

“No, a pirate pirate! Go around, you know, plundering things and getting into swordfights and pistol duels and spontaneously erupting into musical numbers on the deck of some ship. For fun!”

“Vriska.”

“What?”

“Pirates aren’t real! They’re fantasy! They only exist in multi-volume young adult novels heavy enough to kill a cat and fan fiction written by teenagers who are too mature for ponies but not mature enough for rainbow-drinkers!”

“Well, then I’ll be the first, won’t I?”

Before you can respond, there is a greasy smell of octarine-coloured light and a loud popping noise, and you hear Vriska shouting.

No, wait, that’s not right. You hear Vriska _and yourself_ shouting.

“After him!” Vriska yells. “The portal’s about to close again!”

“What -” you begin to ask, but then you are interrupted by, of all people, yourself.

“Terezi! Don’t forget to wind your wand!” you - or rather, the other you - yell, apparently to yourself.

Then there is a massive blur and a thunderclap of displaced air, as if something very large just flew through the nearby space at high speed, followed by another popping sound and overwhelming smell of octarine and blessed silence afterwards.

“Who the hell was that?” Vriska asks.

“Us, apparently,” you say. “Who were we chasing?”

“I dunno, some creep with a green t-shirt.” Vriska replies. “It had a sword on it. Probably some heavy metal band’s t-shirt. Whoa, hey! He dropped something.”

“What?” you ask.

“Looks like a gold ring,” she says. “Sweet! And it’s not even my wriggling day.”

“You already put it on, didn’t you?”

“Natch.”

“I hope you had the good sense to cast Identify on it first. What if it were cursed? That’s Magic Ring 101 material, right there. Literally. It was on our week one handout. Didn’t you read it? No, of course you didn’t.”

“Relax, I put it on the metal hand. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“What, your _magical_ metal arm? You can’t just mix random magical artifacts like that!” you yell. “We could have been killed! Or worse, expelled.”

“You have got to sort out your priorities,” Vriska says. “Besides, the night is young. Come on.”

“Where are you going?”

“If we’re about to get sucked into some sort of time portal I want to bring my cool sunglasses with me,” she says, and starts walking off. “Maybe some sandwiches too! You can be in charge of those. I’ll be in charge of looking cool.”

* * *

“Miss Pyrope,” rumbles the headmaster, who smells the spitting image of Zazzerpan the Learned and is quite possibly as ancient, “it is the official position of the Ministry of Magic that there is no such thing as time travel. Therefore, any portals, anomalies, or other closed time-like curves you may or may not have observed were either simply a side effect of an errant weather balloon spell or, more likely, your imagination.”

“After all,” he adds, “it’s not like you actually _saw_ this aberration, is it?”

_Oh sweet baby Sufferer,_ you think to yourself, _he actually went there._

You bristle and prepare to unleash a torrent of righteous and legally sound anger at him when Vriska suddenly slams the door to the headmaster’s office open and yells, “It’s back, come on!”

You run out into the hallway with Vriska without waiting for the headmaster. There, in between the entrances to the library and the Defence Against the White Sciences lecture hall respectively, the portal flickers angrily, emitting a series of loud popping noises and seeming somehow larger than before while still occupying - or rather, not occupying - the same space.

Pieces of paper start whipping about in the howling winds that have sprung up around the portal. One of them, a wanted poster announcing the recent escape of the infamous criminal Jade “Granny” English from Azkaban, hits you in the face. You peel it off just in time to observe the headmaster running up, his face a deep tomato red from outrage and exertion.

“Misses Serket and Pyrope!” the headmaster bellows, straining to be heard over the noise of the portal and the countless pieces of paper, “It is the express opinion of the Ministry of Magic that the phenomenon in front of you does not exist! Therefore, you are to depart this perfectly normal hallway at once!”

“You heard the man!” shouts Vriska, “Let’s go!”

Then, in a rare show of unity, the two of you link hands and take a running leap towards the portal.

As you tumble through the rift in space-time for what seems like an eternity, the headmaster’s words echo behind you:

“…deducting 50 points each…Gryffindor and Slytherin…”

* * *

You land on a mix of dusty concrete and polished marble tiling.

“I told you he wouldn’t believe you,” Vriska says. 

“I had to try,” you reply, and stagger to your feet, dusting yourself off in the process.

“Where are we, anyway?” she asks, and then, before you can say a word, interjects “I know, I know, the correct question is _when_ are we. Don’t go getting all timey-wimey on me.”

You sniff the air cautiously. “Empress’s Cross railway station, early autumn, sometime in the morning.”

“Showoff.”

“You did ask,” you reply. “We should go check out 9 3/4 and try to find some other wizards.”

“I guess,” Vriska says, and the two of you set off for the platform.

You walk for a while in silence until Vriska speaks up. “What’s with you, anyway? You seem awfully upbeat for an honor student who just pissed off the headmaster.”

“Oh, I guess it’s just the atmosphere, you know? So many fond memories of getting ready for school. Weren’t you excited when you got your first acceptance letter in the mail?”

“I wouldn’t know. My lusus ate the first one. And the flapbeast that tried to deliver it. Took them eight tries to get a letter to me.”

“Oh.”

As you enter the platform you encounter a young woman wearing a cat face hoodie, tracing her claws along impossibly thin stringlike structures which float in the air in front of her and shimmer a dozen hues of octarine. She is completely engrossed in her work and does not acknowledge your presence.

Vriska clears her throat loudly.

The cat girl looks up. “Oh! Dai’stiho, fellow wizards! I’m afraid the station worldgate is purresently out of commission. You’ll have to use the gate at Islington instead.”

“Oh, thank you, but…” you begin. 

“Wait.” Vriska interrupts. “Why is it out of commission?”

“Some guy came through here on his own purrsonal gating. Threw the main clawdication completely out of alignment! Just ripped right through. I haven’t seen a mess this bad since that incident at the Crossings a few years ago.”

“What do you want to bet that’s our guy?” Vriska asks.

“I’d rather not indulge you in your gambling habit,” you reply. “But I do think that’s him. Hold on, I have an idea…”

You pull a small telescoping wand from your belt - your canestaff’s good for sheer power, but not so much for delicate work - and crank it a few times to charge it up. “Since he didn’t go through the main worldgate his transit wouldn’t have been logged, but a gating that powerful should have left a trace. We should be able to figure out where he went, and, more importantly, re-open the portal he used. May I?” you ask the cat girl, gesturing with your wand.

“Go ahead. It’s not like you could break it any further than it’s already broken.”

“Thank you,” you say, and quickly set about constructing and casting a trace spell. “This will be a multi-hop spell. I’m guessing he’s made several jumps by now, but if we’re quick, we should hopefully catch up with him eventually.”

“Cool,” Vriska says. “Hit it.”


	3. Terezi Pyrope and the Jade-Blood Sylph

“I’m lying in a ditch, every bone in my body hurts, we’re surrounded by nothing but trees, and it’s snowing. There is snow falling on me right now. It’s cold and wet.”

“That would seem to be the situation, yes,” you reply.

“Ow,” Vriska adds, for effect.

You slowly sit up, prodding at yourself to make sure nothing’s broken. “I don’t know why the portal dumped us out like that. We should try to figure out where we are. And get a new reading for the trace spell.”

“We’re in the middle of the woods,” Vriska says.

“Yes, but which woods? There are rather a lot of them,” you say.

“What does it matter? They’re all the same. There’s a bunch of dirt and little crawly things and trees and -”

Vriska is interrupted by a deep rumbling roar as a dragon flies overhead.

“- and dragons, apparently,” she finishes.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” you say.

The dragon circles around and flies over you again, screeching.

“Uh,” Vriska says, and starts reaching for her wand.

“Don’t you dare blast it,” you whisper loudly at her.

“It could have been a shield spell,” she hisses back.

“Do you even know any?”

“Ahem,” interrupts a third voice, and the two of you look up.

The voice apparently belongs to a very tall woman who smells of jade blood and writhing tattoo ink and bottled moonlight.

Also, she’s on a horse.

The strange woman says something to you in a language you don’t understand, and looks expectantly at you. You get the feeling that whatever she’s asking you, you really don’t want to give her the wrong answer.

“Um,” you begin, then trail off. You straighten up and face her. _“We are on errantry, and we greet you, madam,”_ you say, in the Speech which is the root language of all magic.

_“More wizards,”_ she replies, switching to the Speech herself. _“I should have known.”_

Above, the dragon roars again. She looks up at it and says in a firm but kind voice, _“It’s okay, Berrybreath. You can go now. I’ll take it from here.”_ She looks back down at the two of you. _“Well, are you just going to stand around in the cold? Come along now; the last thing we need is a pair of frozen wizards. Whatever business you have, you’d best do it indoors.”_

* * *

Vriska is unusually quiet on the ride out of the woods, which puzzles you at first, until you recall that the only times you’ve seen her demonstrate any sort of proficiency in the Speech were in the course of trying to blow something up.

By ride, of course, you mean that all three of you are on horseback, with you holding tightly to the back of the tattooed lady, and Vriska behind you and trying to act nonchalant, an affectation somewhat betrayed by her periodic frantic grasping at you whenever the ride gets particularly bumpy. 

It is a rather large horse.

_“Pardon me, ma’am,”_ you ask, eventually, _“but where exactly are we? And where are we going?”_

_“Romania. And we are going to the offices of the dragon sanctuary, of which these woods are part,”_ she says.

You gently punch Vriska’s leg out of excitement.

“What?” she yells.

“Dragon sanctuary!” you yell at her.

“Oh,” she says, sounding supremely unimpressed.

Eventually you make your way to the foothills of the mountains bordering the woods, and soon to a cluster of low stone buildings that seem far too small to be the offices of the great dragon sanctuary, which has loomed large in your mind ever since you first learned of it as a first year student.

You hop off the horse and follow your host through the stables, past rows of horses, assorted tools, and a slender jadeblood with delicious-smelling red hair discreetly flirting with the stable manager, and through to an inner courtyard, where a young woman who seems not much older than yourself awaits.

“Porrim!” she says, and greets your host with a hug, and then says something else in what you assume is Romanian.

Your host - who you assume is Porrim, unless that’s Romanian for “hello” - responds to her in the same language, and then turns and addresses you in the Speech.

_“I must be going. I have other matters to attend to. But I will leave you in the care of my sister, Kanaya. She can answer any questions you may have.”_

_“Thank you,”_ you reply, and bow slightly, uncertain of the protocol in this particular situation. Vriska follows suit.

With that, Porrim leaves, and Kanaya walks up to you. “Hello,” she says. “My sister tells me you two are here on wizardly business; is that correct?”

“You speak our language!” exclaims Vriska.

“Oh, yes.” Kanaya says, and then leans forward and whispers, “So does Porrim, to be honest. But she makes it a point of pride not to. It would be unbefitting of one in her position.”

“And what position is that?” Vriska asks.

Instead of answering, Kanaya claps her hands and says, “You two must be cold. Let us continue this in the main office.”

She leads you into one of the low buildings. It is almost completely empty except for a long green curtain along one wall.

“This is the main office?” Vriska asks incredulously.

“No,” Kanaya responds, and then pulls aside the edge of the curtain. “Please keep close. The entrance is not very well lit, and the uneven steps can be treacherous to those not accustomed to them.”

She gestures, and you and Vriska step past her. There is an updraft here, and it smells as if it has traveled a long way to get to your nose. She lets go of the curtain, and as the inky blackness settles in around you, she begins to glow a pale white. “Follow me,” she says, stepping in front of you.

Even with Kanaya’s glow, the rough stone passageway - narrow at first, but seemingly widening as you go further down - is very dark, and while you are perfectly in your element, tapping your way forward with your canestaff, you soon hear Vriska stumble, catch herself, and curse, the noise reverberating around you.

“I did warn you regarding the stairs,” Kanaya says, and slows down for Vriska’s sake. “Stay very close now. We are almost to the main cavern.”

“A grue couldn’t find their way in this place,” Vriska grumbles.

“At least we know there aren’t any nearby, or your arm would be glowing blue,” you reply.

“You’re thinking of orcs.”

As you walk slowly forward, you begin to smell a faint red glow, which grows brighter the further you go. Soon the wall to your right abruptly slopes downward, revealing a vast open cavern, easily twenty stories tall. The walls of the cavern are honeycombed with hundreds of openings of various sizes, hinting at a vast network of caves beyond, and far below you are lava pits which reek of sulfur and cinnamon. Just below you, three adolescent dragons scamper excitedly to and fro above the lava pits, flying circles around each other, their scales shimmering a dozen iridescent hues in the dim light, and as one of them turns and sees you, it roars and emits a long, lazy plume of flame, aimed safely away from your group, as if greeting you.

“Welcome,” Kanaya says, “to the dragon sanctuary.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I have to admit, I’m surprised your Ministry of Magic dispatched an investigation team so quickly in response to our inquiry,” Kanaya says, pouring tea.

Vriska looks up from the rather large platter of sandwiches that has just been set in front of the two of you. “You did what now?”

“We only sent a bat to report the intrusion yesterday. We weren’t expecting anyone for at least another few days.”

“Ah, well, actually - ” you begin, and are interrupted by Vriska.

“Actually we’re part of what you might call an elite Fast Response Team. The official delegation will arrive later. But in matters like these, it pays to be prompt.”

“Ah. Of course,” Kanaya says, and sits down across from you. You note that she has neither helped herself to food nor tea, but is instead sipping from a suspiciously colourful-smelling goblet.

“Perhaps you could start by telling us what exactly happened,” Vriska adds.

“Ah. Well,” Kanaya says, and takes another sip. “Two days ago an individual used magic to break into one of our secure hatching facilities. He was then chased through the compound, until finally arriving at the stables, which you’ve already seen. Upon encountering the horses there he proceeded to, as you say, flip the fuck out.”

“Are you getting this down?” Vriska asks you, clearly relishing her newfound role as special investigator. You quickly produce a small notebook and a piece of red chalk from your pockets and start scribbling notes.

“Stables. Got it. And do you have the suspect in custody?” you ask.

“No. I’m afraid he eluded capture. In fact, in the process of escape, he first stole a horse, rode to one of our roosts, and then stole a rare breed of dragon - a luck dragon, specifically - before taking flight. Our finest riders pursued him, but he quickly escaped through some sort of magical portal in mid-air.”

“Ah! That explains the spatial displacement,” you exclaim.

“Yes, exactly right, I - wait, what?” Vriska asks.

“It’s why the trace spell dumped us out twenty feet above the ground, in the middle of the woods.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Can we examine his points of entry and departure? We should be able to track him based on the trace left there,” you ask Kanaya.

“I’m sorry, but the former is a restricted area and the latter would be rather difficult for you to reach,” she replies.

“Ah, that is a shame,” Vriska says. “I do appreciate how much your privacy matters to you. Truly, I do. In fact, this is exactly the sort of situation the Fast Response Team was formed to address.”

“Was it?” Kanaya asks.

“Oh yes. You see, we can be very discreet, and very quick about our investigation. Given full support, we can be in and out of here in - what would you say, Inspector Pyrope, an hour? Maybe two?”

“Definitely,” you say, nodding in an extremely official manner.

“Much faster than the official investigation team. And much less likely to interfere with your affairs. Why, an official investigation could last weeks easily.”

“Did they ever finish that one in Gringotts?” you add.

“Five years running and still they haven’t finished their investigation. A damned shame, really,” Vriska says. “You can just imagine how frustrating it’s been for the goblins.”

“I see,” Kanaya says, staring at Vriska warily. “Well. Perhaps in this case we could make an exception. In the interests of cooperation.”

“Splendid,” Vriska says, grinning widely, and holds up her teacup as if offering a toast. “To business, then.”

* * *

After tea, Vriska goes off to confer with the riders who’d chased your mysterious individual, while Kanaya guides you through an endless maze of twisty little passages, all alike, until you are certain she is intentionally leading you in circles to keep you from retracing your steps later.

However, you are inclined to ignore this for the moment, because a bigger question is on your mind as you observe your surroundings.

“Tell me,” you say quietly to her as you walk down yet another corridor, “is everyone who works here a jadeblood?”

You suspect that her reaction betrays nothing visually; however, you can smell the faintest hint of concern as blood rushes to her cheeks.

“We do try to keep it in the family,” Kanaya says flatly, and leaves it at that.

Eventually you reach the hatchery. It is a fairly small room, possibly one of many. There are tables with carefully arrayed metal trays of dragon eggs, and what smell like natural forges carved into either side wall, with long flat openings that suggest they are designed to accommodate egg trays being slid in and out as needed. The forges glow a dull red from natural lava flows; it is a very warm room.

The eggs themselves are almost too much for you to bear, with incredibly subtle textures and colourations, each one unique. But there is one tray in particular that draws your attention; to judge from the layout, it is probably next in line for the forge. Each egg on this tray appears to have been painted. They glisten in a way the other eggs do not, and you can still smell the natural colouration of the eggs from underneath the outer layer of colour.

More importantly, you can smell what the eggs have been painted with.

“So it’s true,” you say quietly, almost under your breath, “dragon eggs can only be hatched with blood magic.”

Kanaya turns to look at you, and then back to the eggs, touching each one delicately, thoughtfully. “Who better than rainbow drinkers, then, to hatch them?” she says, just as quietly.

“Something I’d always wondered…the word for rainbow drinker in the Speech - it literally means _orb tender_. I suppose now I know why.”

“It is not the only reason. But yes. It is…a mutually beneficial relationship we have enjoyed with the dragons for quite some time now,” Kanaya says, the hint of a smile on her face. “Now then, about that spell…”

* * *

After you gather the needed data to update the tracking spell, you and Kanaya go to join Vriska out in an open field a ways away from the stables. From a distance you can smell her, a sanctuary staff member, and a dragon you tentatively parse as a Norwegian Ridgeback.

“Check out this sweet ride I snagged us!” Vriska yells when she sees you walking across the field.

“Is that…” you start to say, and then go bounding across the field before leaping up and hugging the dragon, startling everyone else nearby.

“It is! It is you!” you exclaim.

“Uh,” Vriska says.

“Don’t you recognize her? This is Herbert,” you say, petting the dragon behind the ears.

“What, Gamekeeper Zahhak’s dragon? The one they sent away?”

“The one and only. And they’re letting us borrow her?”

“We do expect her back eventually,” Kanaya says, “but given the location of the exit portal, this was the only practical way to arrange access to it.”

“You hear that, Herbert? We’re going on an adventure!” you say to the dragon, and then look back to Kanaya. “Thank you for all your help. ”

“Are you certain you two can handle a dragon on your own?”

“I think we can manage,” you say, grinning.


	5. Terezi Pyrope and the Not-so-Wicked Witch of Azkaban

Chasing after a suspect is a much quicker affair, it turns out, when both pursuer and pursued are on dragons.

You quickly jump through dozens of different settings, flying faster and faster, until finally it is all a blur of surprised bystanders and people yelling.

_Oi, you can’t fly here! This is a no-flying zone! Do you have a license for that dragon?_

**pop**

_In what is almost certainly a first for the Triwizard Tournament, a dragon has just appeared on the field and eaten the snitch! What team is that dragon playing for, anyway?_

**pop**

_Gryffindor!_

_Did the Sorting Hat just put that dragon in Gryffindor? Why is there a dragon up there anyway? Where -_

**pop**

_\- did my lollipop go? It was just here and then there was this big blur and now it’s gone._

**pop**

_This is a restricted area. All unauthorized persons must leave immediately. Failure to do so will attract the attention of all nearby Dementors. This is a restricted area. All -_

**crunch**

You crash through a series of large wooden doors marked with a variety of warding sigils, and then a stone wall, and then there is a bright green flash just before you reach the next portal.

As you go through the portal, there is a wrenching sensation, and as you emerge at your next location, all three of you - yourself, Vriska, and Herbert - tumble wildly out of it and slowly come rolling to a stop in a vast room that sounds like chiming water and smells of warm beeswax and old iron.

“What now?” Vriska asks.

“I don’t know. Something destabilized the portal. I might need to recalibrate the spell.”

Just then, a booming voice calls out.

AT LAST. MY ELABORATE PLANS. HAVE ALL COME. TO FRUITION.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Vriska yells.

I AM. THE ANGEL ISLINGTON. AND I HAVE BROUGHT YOU HERE. THROUGH AN INTRICATE SERIES OF STEPS IN MY DEVIOUS PLAN. EACH ONE A SINGLE LINE. TRACING OUT. A CIRCLE. A CIRCLE WHICH LEADS TO THE INEVITABLE CONCLUSION. THAT IS MY ESCAPE FROM THIS PLACE.

“Wait, are you saying you’re the one responsible for the portals? Not that creepy guy? By which I mean the other creepy guy. Not you.”

While Vriska and the as yet disembodied voice banter, you take the opportunity to slip behind Herbert and start frantically working on updating the spell, hoping that the owner of said voice doesn’t notice.

THERE IS NO NEED. TO PLAY COY WITH ME. MARQUIS DE CARABAS. WITH YOUR. CONFUSING WORD GAMES. YOU KNOW FULL WELL. IT IS YOUR COMPANION. THE LADY DOOR. WHO IS THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO CREATE PORTALS. WITH MY TEAM OF LAUGHSASSINS I HAVE CORNERED HER HERE. AND NOW SHE MUST. DO MY BIDDING.

“…whatever, dude. Look, I don’t know anyone named Door, and you’ve got the wrong Marquis.”

WHAT. WHO ARE YOU THEN. EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

“I am…” Vriska pauses, “Marquise Spinneret Mindfang! And I demand _you_ explain _yourself_.”

There is an extremely awkward pause.

UM. LOOK. I THINK THERE HAS BEEN SOME SORT OF. MIXUP. HERE. MAYBE WE COULD JUST. TRY THIS ALL AGAIN.

“Don’t care.”

WHAT.

Meanwhile, working quietly, you quickly complete the spell, adding in an authorized-users-only filter at the last moment just to be on the safe side.

“You’re boring me,” Vriska continues. “And we’ve really got to be going, there’s this whole other…thing…we’re kind of dealing with at the moment, and -”

NO. YOU WILL STAY HERE. AND USE YOUR MAGIC. TO HELP ME ESCAPE THIS PRISON.

_“Go,”_ you whisper in the Speech, and wave your wand at the marble floor underneath you.

As you, Vriska, and Herbert fall through the new portal, there is a clanging sound as something very large slams against the filter in vain, and then an anguished howl.

VERY RUDE.


	6. Chapter 6

This time, you land in the middle of a vast pumpkin-orange desert, underneath an even vaster lemon sky, surrounded by vanilla horses. Herbert sniffs at one; the horse startles and nearly sets off a stampede.

“I think the trace spell must still be miscalibrated. I’m not picking up any sign of a portal trace here,” you say, engrossed in your work, and then realize that Vriska has wandered off. “Vriska?”

Vriska, meanwhile, is marching indignantly towards a small outcropping of rocks. You follow her, Herbert in tow, and as you come closer you realize that there is someone hiding behind the rocks and occasionally darting out, hand outstretched, in which you smell brief glints of gold.

“HEY, YOU!” Vriska shouts. The figure darts up and down and you catch a familiar flash of green. “Yeah, you! What’s the big deal, anyway? We finally catch up to you and now you’re trying to sneak up on _us_? What’s your deal, buddy?”

It is at this precise moment that Herbert snorts loudly and actually does set off a stampede of horses.

The strange individual in green startles and makes a run for it.

“Stop him!” Vriska yells.

“Expelliarmus!” you yell, and wave your precision wand at the figure.

There is a brief flash of octarine and a disappointing noise as the spell fails.

“Oops,” you say. “That last jump must have drained my wand. I should have wound it up again when I had the chance.”

Ahead of you, your quarry makes a complex series of gestures which culminate in a new portal opening.

“Never mind that now, let’s go!” Vriska yells, and runs through the portal in hot pursuit.

As you follow her through the portal - on foot this time, with Herbert still lagging behind you - you smell the familiar green turf of a field near the school.

“After him!” Vriska yells. “The portal’s about to close again!”

_Wait a minute,_ you think to yourself.

“What -” you hear yourself - your earlier self saying.

“Terezi! Don’t forget to wind your wand!” you yell, and then jump through the portal.

A second later, Herbert follows you, flying very quickly to catch up.

* * *

The portal dumps you out back at school, not far from where you entered it. It’s clearly a different time of day, though, and presumably a different day altogether, since it is currently raining half-frozen sleet and you do not remember it even being a cloudy day when you left. The sudden blast of cold air temporarily numbs your nose and quickly makes it hard to see what’s going on.

“I can’t believe I didn’t put it together until now!” you say.

“Not now,” says Vriska.

“Yes, just now! I mean, admittedly it’s a lot more obvious now, but -”

“Terezi.”

“What?”

“We have company.”

You rub your nose and inhale deeply.

You are surrounded by Dementors.

“Oh,” you say.

“Yeah,” says Vriska.

“Maybe we could just…explain to them what’s going on, and…” you trail off.

“No,” says Vriska.

Herbert growls, a low rumbling noise that sounds like a jet taking off, and raises her head well above the crowd, ready to strike at your signal.

You realize you’re still holding onto your wand. You raise it high in what you hope is a valiant gesture, remembering only slightly too late that it still needs to be wound.

“Well,” you begin.

“Woof!”

Just then, a large white dog runs up to the circle of Dementors, grabbing one by the cloak and shaking vigorously, then darting in front of you and barking loudly before emitting an intense bright lime green light and vanishing, taking you, Vriska, and Herbert with it.


	7. Chapter 7

You arrive in a small dilapidated shack, your nose still registering afterimages of lime jello. Herbert makes a whining noise; the shack is just barely big enough to accommodate all four of you.

“What the -” begins Vriska.

“Woof!” the white dog barks, and then yawns and stretches, while somehow simultaneously transforming into a old woman with a mess of white hair.

“Good! Now we’re even,” the old woman says. “Now, you youngsters run along now. Trust me, you don’t want to attract any more trouble associating with me.”

“Even?” Vriska asks.

“Well, after you did me the courtesy of breaking me out of Azkaban, I figured it was the least I could do to rescue you from the Dementors. Especially since it was me they were after in the first place!”

“Breaking you out of…oh. Oh no,” you say, and take a step back, holding your canestaff in a defensive gesture.

“What the hell, Terezi?” Vriska yells.

“Stay back! That’s the convicted criminal Jade English! She’s wanted on several counts of murder and White Science, all done in the service of the Batterwitch herself as she was carrying out her evil campaign!”

“The one and only.” says the old woman, bowing. “Call me Granny.”

“I’d rather call the authorities, if it’s all the same to you,” you retort.

“Now, now. If you were in any real danger from me, do you really think you’d still be standing there? Hmm?”

“What would you expect me to do, just let you go free? We know the Batterwitch’s supporters are still out there, and -”

“- and I think you will find that of all the people who have had the misfortune of knowing the Batterwitch, I am, in fact, the least inclined to support her!”

“What?” you and Vriska yell simultaneously.

The old woman sighs. “I was framed, okay? I didn’t commit any of those murders. I was raised by the Batterwitch, yes - but I spent years plotting my escape from her clutches, thwarting her plans whenever I could, first from the inside, and then, finally, when I did gain my independence -”

“You seriously expect us to believe that?” Vriska says.

“I expect _her_ to,” the old woman says, jabbing a finger in your direction. “I know your kind. You’re not just any sort of wizard. You’re a Seer, aren’t you? Go on then, tell your friend if I’m lying or not.”

You warily lower your canestaff and walk up to the woman, sniffing at her. She stands still, arms crossed.

“Well?” Vriska eventually asks.

“…she’s telling the truth!” you say.

“Told you so,” says Granny, smugly.

Just then, the door to the shack is blasted off its hinges in a huge flash of octarine.

“Nobody move!” yells Professor Ampora, who you suddenly recall is this week’s Defence Against the White Sciences professor. He is followed by the headmaster and a swarm of Dementors. “Let the hostages go! Now!”

“Well, if you say so…” says Granny, and winks at you. “Sorry, kids.”

She raises her hands and suddenly once again everything smells strongly of lime jello.

* * *

You reappear on the far side of a small hill overlooking the shack. Granny isn’t with you. After you get your bearings, Vriska peeks up carefully over the top.

“They’re leading her out of the shack in restraints. I don’t get it. Why didn’t she just teleport out with us?”

“Because she didn’t want to get us in trouble,” you groan. “And now she’s in trouble. We’ve got to save her!”

“Yeah? How?” Vriska asks. “Besides, we’ve got our own quest to deal with. We need to be tracking down that next portal!”

“I think that’s kind of pointless now, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“It’s something I figured out right before that first group of Dementors. Didn’t anything seem unusual to you about that encounter in the desert?” you ask.

“What, you mean the way that creep was trying to follow us for a change?”

“Yes! Think about it. There was no sign of his dragon. And he was holding out a ring. That same ring on your hand right now!”

“So? Maybe the dude’s just got, like, a huge stash of rings.”

“Yes, but then we followed him through to the same event where we first encountered ourselves running through the portal. That means that the ring he dropped there was the same one we’d just seen in the desert. He hadn’t been running from us until that point! The reason we were chasing him…is because we saw ourselves chasing him!”

“Ugh, all this time travel is giving me a headache. Okay, fine. Let’s table that adventure for now. How do you propose to rescue this Granny lady? Those were magic suppression cuffs. She’s surrounded by Dementors. Lots of them. And…” Vriska cranes her head up again, “it looks like they’re taking her to the White Tower. Who knows what the hell they’ll have guarding _that_. And you want to just waltz in there and save her?”

“Precisely,” you say, and start slowly sneaking down the hill. “Come on. I know a place in Hogsmeade.”

* * *

You approach a small, run-down hut at the end of the alley and cautiously knock on the door.

“Have you ever actually been here before?” asks Vriska.

“Not as such,” you respond, and then a small window slides open and a man who looks half-asleep sticks his head out.

“WHAT,” he shouts, and then, in a much quieter tone, “are the haps, my friends?”

“Um. Can we speak to the Miracle Man, please?” you ask. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”

“Well. I don’t know,” the man responds. “Can you?”

There is an awkward pause as you try to process this, and then Vriska speaks up.

“Yes,” she says, confidently. “Yes we can.”

“Well, all right then, sister,” the strange man says, and opens the door for you.

Your nose twitches as you step inside the shop, not so much from the dust as the long rows of potions arrayed along the wall, each shelf a rainbow counted out in bottles. The man who greeted you stands off to one side, slowly swaying as if to a tune only he can hear. You note he is wearing a faded jester’s outfit with the school crest on it. There is no one else in the shop.

“We need a miracle,” you say.

“Yeah? Now why would you want that from SOMEONE the wizard school headmaster himself fired? ‘Stage magic is not an APPROPRIATE lecture topic for Potions class, Professor Makara,’ he said. And ‘You can’t park your unicycle here, Professor Makara.’ And ‘You know how SENSITIVE Professor Ampora is about your sawing-in-half trick, Professor Makara.’ So WHAT GOOD,” he yells, “would a miracle do either of us?”

“We want to free someone the headmaster arrested,” you say. “If you help us, you’ll be thwarting him.”

“Well, now THAT’S a horse of a different colour! I’ll take it. I’m on the job!” he exclaims, and shuffles over to the shelves behind him.

“Now then… to free someone who’s been arrested… ah… HERE,” he says, picking up a potion from the shelf. “Trick handcuff potion. A few drops of this little beauty here and even the strongest restraints will just slide right off, before you can even say Abra Kadabra. Now then. Anything else? Dove conjuring potion? Rabbit hat wax? Chicken rental?”

“Who would want to rent a chicken?” Vriska asks.

“No, just the potion, thank you.” you say hastily. “That’ll solve half our problem, at least. Once we get to Granny and break her out of the cuffs, she can teleport us out. Now if we only had a dragon-sized invisibility cloak.”

“Will this do?” the Miracle Man asks, suddenly whipping out a bundle of cloth that is clearly the much larger cousin of a folded parachute.

“Why didn’t you… Never mind.”

As you walk out of the shop, supplies in tow, the Miracle Man stands and waves goodbye.

“Have fun storming the tower!” he yells after you.

“Think this’ll work?” you ask Vriska.

“It’d take a miracle.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I can’t believe this. She was supposed to be here by now!” you quietly remark to no one in particular, except possibly Herbert, who is currently hiding under the invisibility tarp with you on the school grounds near the White Tower.

Vriska is not with you, having run off at the last moment to, as she put it, “recruit some additional help.” You are not entirely certain what she meant by that, but you do know that there are a lot more Dementors at the tower now than when first started waiting, and that you cannot wait forever, because if they’re following standard legal procedure they should be moving Granny back to Azkaban any hour now.

Eventually you notice the headmaster and two people you take to be Ministry officials leave the school offices and start walking towards the tower and you realize that, no, you’ve run out of time, you have to do this now, Vriska or no Vriska. You climb up on Herbert and take off, silently praying that the invisibility tarp doesn’t suddenly blow off.

The White Tower has eight floors, with the highest security cell located on the roof. Most of the Dementors are congregated on the bottom-most floor, near the sole entrance, which is ostensibly the only way to reach the cells beyond.

Ostensibly.

You quickly soar to the top of the tower and carefully slide off Herbert to the small balcony below.

 _“Stay here,”_ you say to her in the Speech. _“And keep an ear out for trouble.”_

You enter the tower through the roof entrance and slowly creep your way to the maximum-security cell. There are no Dementors on this floor. You try to move very quietly to keep it that way. You’re almost to the cell when you suddenly make a very important discovery:

The reason no one bothered to station any Dementors on this floor is because they stationed a basilisk instead.

You quickly hold out your canestaff but before you can cast anything the basilisk strikes, flinging you against a nearby wall. You hit the rough stone surface with a horrible crunching sound; you wince but don’t have time to contemplate broken bones because the basilisk has started coiling itself around you.

Your hand is still wrapped firmly around your canestaff, though.

 _“Goodnessssssss”_ , the basilisk says in the Speech. _“What have we here? A tassssssssty ssssssssnack, yessssssss. Just look into my eyes and it’ll all be over ssssssssoon. _“ It pauses. ”_ Why are you ssssssssmiling?”_

 _“Because,”_ you say, struggling to draw breath, _“I know something you don’t know.”_

_“And what issssssss that?”_

_“I’m blind,”_ you say, and blast the basilisk with your canestaff.

After you extricate yourself from the charred, smoking remnants of the basilisk you sneak over to the cell door. To your surprise you find it’s not even locked; apparently between the magic-suppression handcuffs, Dementors, and the basilisk, the school authorities figured there was no chance of Granny escaping.

“Right on schedule,” Granny says as the door swings open. “Any chance of getting these cuffs off?”

“I’ve got a potion,” you say, and reach into your pack only to find a pile of damp, broken glass. “Correction: Had a potion. I wasn’t planning on getting crushed half to death by a giant snake today.”

“Well, that’s just dandy,” says Granny, standing up and following you out of the cell. “You got a plan B, kid?”

“That remains to be seen,” you say, and turn a corner just in time to notice Dementors coming up the steps. “Let’s make a quick retreat outside, shall we?”

“Splendid,” says Granny.

You back slowly away from the Dementors, taking a potshot here and there with your canestaff when you can, but more and more of them crowd the top floor until the air reeks of grave dirt and freezer burn. Once you reach the balcony, the entryway acts as a natural bottleneck and you blast repeatedly at the Dementors trying to cross it, but you’re not certain how long you can hold them off.

“This is your plan B?” Granny asks incredulously.

Just then, you hear a loud rumbling from below you, in the direction of the woods bordering the school.

“What the -” you ask, and then the smell-data hits your brain and you boggle.

The ground below is completely covered with spiders of all sizes, a roiling sea of chitinous black. In the middle rides Vriska on a giant spider, as big as her Shadow Mount - but this is no Shadow Mount.

“I AM THE DREAD PIRATE MINDFANG!” she yells. “THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS! HELL FUCKING YES!”

“That’s our plan B,” you say to Granny, and turn your attention back to the Dementors.

Within a matter of minutes the spiders reach the tower and start ascending it, and soon the entire tower is engulfed in battle. Most of the Dementors are now far too busy with the spiders to pay attention to you, but a small group of them slip through the entryway in the chaos and advance on you.

You and Granny back slowly away from the Dementors until you’re right up against the rooftop ledge.

“Now what?” Granny asks.

“Jump!” you yell.

“What -”

“Now!” you yell, as one of the Dementors reaches out for you.

The two of you fall backwards. The Dementors crowd forward to see where you landed, and then meet the head of your canestaff as you swing it like a baseball bat while balancing on the back of Herbert.

Vriska, meanwhile, reaches the tower and starts climbing up the side of it on her giant spider.

“Why are you still here?” she yells as she reaches you.

“Potion broke!” you yell back.

“What about the portal?”

“No good! We’re too far away.”

The Dementors take to the air and start to slowly drift towards you. Herbert roars and breathes fire at them, slowing them down, but more soon follow.

“Oh yeah. They fly,” says Granny. “Did I mention they fly?”

“I don’t think we can hold them off much longer!” Vriska yells. “But I do have one more trick up my sleeve!”

“What?” you yell back.

“You know all those rumours about me stealing the Octavo?”

“Vriska, don’t joke about that, a spell like that could destroy whoever cast it!”

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of this alive either way! Might as well go out with style!”

“Vriska, no!”

But it’s too late; Vriska has already started saying the eighth spell. It is only eight syllables long, but as she says it, time seems to slow down all around you, as if everything is holding its breath, waiting for her to say the eighth and final syllable of the eighth and final spell of the Octavo, and rewrite fate itself, until finally she reaches the end, and then there is a deafening silence as everything fades to white.

Just before you pass out, in the distance, you think you can hear someone say “Page one.”

* * *

You find yourself back in the school hallway, alone. Vriska, Herbert, and Granny are nowhere to be seen. In your hands there is a letter; you don’t remember picking it up.

You give the letter a cautious lick and begin reading it.

> You didn’t really think I’d 8e happy staying in school, did you?
> 
> I’m fine, just so you know. Pir8s are real now, and I have my own ship, and I am feared on all the high seas. It’s perfect!!!!!!!!
> 
> Granny’s here too. I’m giving her a ride to some tropical island. I guess she wants to retire or something? She tells me there should 8e lots of treasures near8y to plunder.
> 
> Oh, 8y the way, I left your dragon in the school sta8les. I’ll let you figure out what to do with her.
> 
> L8r!
> 
> \- The Dread Pir8 Marquise Spinneret Mindfang
> 
> PS: Duck!

_Duck?_ you think, and then hear footsteps; you duck behind a nearby statue just in time to miss yourself - the past yourself - walking down the hall to the headmaster’s office.

 _Thanks,_ you think. You decide to stay hidden here until the coast is clear.

Soon the portal opens up and you notice the strange green-shirted man from before emerge, take a cautious look around, and then step back into the portal. Around the corner, the corresponding past version of Vriska utterly fails to notice anything.

 _Come on,_ you think. _Discover it and come get me from the headmaster’s office._ But instead the portal quietly closes.

_Wait a minute._

You pull out your wand and realize that you still haven’t recharged it. You wind it up, confirm that it’s still loaded with the portal-trace spell, carefully aim it at where the portal was, and fire.

The portal reopens with a vengeance, and this time, Vriska does notice; events start playing out as they did before.

“You heard the man!” shouts Vriska a few minutes later, “Let’s go!” and then dives into the portal with the past version of yourself. The papers settle down. Everything is quiet once again.

“Bye, Vriska,” you say quietly.

* * *

The old woman closed the book.

“And that is the story of how your grandma was rescued by a foolish wizard and an even more foolish pirate. The End.”

She got up and started to leave.

“Grandma?”

“Yes?”

“Could you read it to me again tomorrow? You can even leave in the kissing parts this time. I don’t mind so much.”

“As you wish.”


End file.
